Propheteuo
by SomethingBlue42
Summary: The time for greatness approaches…the one whose blood is pure, who has sacrificed everything for the light side, will be aptly rewarded… but on the night of his greatest triumph, he will give up everything


**Author's Note:** Propheteuo is greek for "to prophesy"

Hermione Granger led a quiet life. The girl that was once said to be the cleverest witch of her age had been pegged to become a professor, an auror, even the Minister of Magic. No one expected her, one of the most accomplished witches of the era, to be serving muggles breakfast in a small cafe in London, living in a small townhouse in the suburbs. But that was her life. Quiet, unassuming, and most of all private.

Stepping through her front door, she dropped her keys on the table in the entryway, her bag falling from her shoulder to the floor with a dull thump. Fatigue emanated from her slight frame as she dragged herself into the kitchen, greeted by dishes from the previous evening's dinner piled in the sink. All she really wanted was to fall into bed and sleep away the rest of the afternoon. The sky outside the window, slate colored and ominous, was drizzling rain, trying to seduce her into a peaceful slumber. But dishes didn't clean themselves…well not in the muggle world.

And she was determined to live as a muggle. For the past five years she had not done so much as a simple Reparo and found herself no worse for the ware.

The war had taken its toll on her as much as anyone, she had always said. She refused to think that she had suffered more than anyone else. Fred had lost George. Remus had lost Tonks. Ginny had lost Harry…they had all lost Harry.

But she refused to think about that as she resignedly began running water into the sink, adding soap. Her life was different now, peaceful. Something she had only dreamed of during the chaos of the war. This was what they had fought for wasn't it? For the ability to come home after a nine hour shift and do your dishes without fear of being murdered…or worse.

The rush of sound from the living room broke her thoughts and sent the sauce pan she was scrubbing crashing and clanging to the bottom of the sink. War-sharpened reflexes had her grasping the nearest kitchen knife and sprinting across the room in a half second, flattening herself against the wall nearest the doorway, peering out into the hall. Finding no one she took a cautious step out of the kitchen, inching her way along the wall to the entrance of the living room. Taking a deep breath, she jumped out, holding her knife like a wand out of habit, nearly dropping it in shock at what she saw.

"Damn Granger, you need to get your chimney swept."

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of her living room, trying desperately to dust the ash off his black dress robes. He glanced up at her briefly, his hair falling into his eyes and then did a double take.

"What are you going to do? Stab me?" he asked, his voice mocking. She lowered her knife, feeling foolish, and scowled at him.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?" she asked, putting a hand on her hip. "and hey… how did you get here?"

"Flooed," he answered as he finally stopped fussing over his robes. "Obviously," he added, brushing past her to stand in the entrance hall.

"Yes, I know that," she spat impatiently. "My fireplace isn't connected to the floo network."

"It is now," he said, leaning toward the banister of the stairs, and looking up as if trying to see what was on the second floor.

"Can I help you, Malfoy? Or did you just drop by to snoop around?"

His head snapped to her and he looked slightly offended before smiling at her and patting her cheek, before she got enough of her bearings to slap his hand away.

"You always were a get down to business kinda girl weren't you Granger?" He smirked, stepping past her, "Is this the kitchen?" he asked walking through the door.

"No it's a library cleverly disguised as a kitchen," she deadpanned, following him. "Malfoy, what-"

"You never talked to Ginny," he said, looking around. "I had that ridiculous muggle contraption installed and you've not contacted her once."

"You came all the way here because I haven't phoned?" she asked.

"No," he replied, walking to the sink and glancing at the dirty dishes. "I came all the way here because she's worried because you haven't…" he paused giving her a quizzical look as he slowly pronounced "phoned," and then turned back to the sink. "She wants to tell you all about the baby."

"Well, I've been busy – _Malfoy what are you doing?!_"

He had pulled out his wand, giving a careless wave and the dishes began to clean themselves. She rushed forward, pushing past him as she tried to grab the sponge that was scrubbing at a dinner plate.

"Stop, stop, stop!" she exclaimed, trying to pull the stubborn sponge away.

"Calm down Granger," he said lazily, flicking his wand again and the dish hit the water with a splash before sinking to the bottom of the basin, the sponge stilling in her hand. "I was only trying to help."

"Well, don't!" she spat, picking up the dish and starting to scrub it herself, her body tingling with the magic in the room.

They were silent then, Malfoy leaning against the counter as she washed, huffing silently.

"Okay so I lied before," he said finally and she glanced at him briefly to find him turning to her. "I'm not here because of Ginny. Well, not entirely."

"Then what are you here for?"

"I've come to court your vote," he said smiling brilliantly at her.

"My…what?" she asked laughing at the absurdity of it.

"Your vote!" he said, walking around the kitchen, picking items up off the counter and observing them. She stopped washing to follow his journey, regarding him amusedly.

"You're running for Minister then?" she asked, leaning against the counter and finally giving in to the force of nature that was Draco Malfoy. "And why do you need my vote?"

"I don't," he stated turning from the china cabinet, coming full circle to face her again. "I won about two hours ago. I'll be the youngest Minister in about six hundred years"

"Then why-"

"Ginny said I should," he replied, and Hermione looked away.

"How is she?"

"Good," he replied, smiling softly. "Tired, but good."

"And your…?" Hermione trailed, suddenly realizing that she didn't even know the sex of Ginny and Draco's first child.

"Daughter," Malfoy finished for her, reaching into his cloak and producing a small photograph.

Hermione took it in her hand and turned towards the window to see it in the light. She saw a very exhausted Ginny holding a tiny infant in a fluffy pink dress, a bow wrapped around a tuft of carrot colored hair. The child was squirming uncomfortably in her mother's arms before her small mouth opened in a silent wail, and Ginny began to bounce the child on her hip.

"Poor kid got her mother's hair and her father's disposition," Malfoy said looking over Hermione's shoulder at his family.

"She's lovely, Draco," Hermione replied softly, a pang of longing tugging in her stomach. She missed Ginny, sometimes. On rainy days like today when she had no one to talk to but the walls.

"You look good," he whispered, and she felt his breath ruffle the hair near her ear.

"Malfoy…" she warned, turning abruptly to face him, and he stepped away from her.

She handed him his photograph and he slipped it back into the inner lining of his cloak, his eyes never leaving hers. She looked away first.

"We loved each other once," he said, sliding his hands in to the pockets of his trousers. "Doesn't that amount to anything?"

"No," she replied coldly, turning resolutely back to the sink. "It was just… war time delusionment or something."

"Or something," he replied, cocking his head to the side and gazing at her. "You've been gone for five years Hermione."

"Yes," she replied, scrubbing viciously at the pan in her hand and trying to ignore how she could feel the heat from his body as he stepped close to her again.

"You just… up and left," he stated.

"I had nothing to stay for."

"Nothing…" He broke into a chuckle.

"Harry's dead, Ron is never going to get out of St. Mungos, and you…" she trailed.

"I?"

"Draco what do you want from me?" she asked, dropping the dish and turning to face him. "You're married, you have a newborn baby girl and you are about to become the youngest Minister of Magic-"

"It's about the prophecy."

His face was grave now, all of his playfulness gone. She shivered at the memory, breaking his gaze.

"I'm sorry I don't remember," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Allow me to refresh your memory."

Reaching into the pocket of his robes Malfoy pulled out a small silvery orb about the size of a golf ball, inscribed with various runes and symbols. Tapping the sphere with his wand, the figure of a girl, willowy and tall, with waist length hair emerged from the orb. The miniature figure of Luna Lovegood opened her mouth, her voice echoing softly into the room.

"'_The time for greatness approaches…the one whose blood is pure, who has sacrificed everything for the light side, will be aptly rewarded… but on the night of his greatest triumph, he will give up everything he holds dear, for his first born… a son… The one whose blood is pure will lose everything… for his first born, his son…'"_

"Memory orb," Malfoy said softly, watching the figure dissolve back into the sphere before placing it back in his pocket.

Hermione didn't respond, her mouth dry. She had been there when the prophecy had been given. She and Malfoy were the only people who knew of the prophecy's existence. Well, the only living people…

"Malfoy, we don't know if it was a prophecy. That was the only time Luna ever Saw-"

"Oh come off it, Granger," Malfoy replied. "Luna was a Seer, ever since the beginning of the war she knew things, Saw things… That's why they killed her!"

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head, memories of burning bodies and blood curdling screams zooming around inside her head.

" '…on the night of his greatest triumph…' That's tonight Hermione." Malfoy said, his face blanched. "It said I would lose everything…"

"It's not true Draco. It didn't come true. Ginny…" Hermione swallowed hard. "Ginny had a girl."

The sound of the front door bursting open caused the two of them to jump. Hermione's eyes flew to the clock on the stove and her heart fell to her toes. Malfoy had pulled out his wand, aiming at the door as a little boy came rushing into the room.

"Mommy, Mommy!" the small boy yelled, launching himself at Hermione, his small arms encircling her neck. "I drewed you a picture!"

He pulled himself back, Hermione struggling to keep hold of him, the awkward shape of his backpack and the shaking of her hands making it hard to keep a grip on him. Getting her arm firmly under his backside, she gasped the paper he was waving in her face, to see small stick figures, one larger form with bushy brown scribbles for hair, the other smaller with yellow straight-lined hair, both standing on a green line of earth under a blue scribble of sky.

"It's…it's lovely," she replied shakily. "Why don't you put it on the fridge?"

She allowed him to slide from her grasp and it was then that the small boy saw Malfoy, standing rooted to the floor, looking fearfully at the child.

"Who's that, Mommy?"

Malfoy stepped forward, towering over the small boy who looked up at him curiously, undeterred.

"Draco Malfoy," he said formerly, as if meeting with a diplomat and reached out his hand.

The boy looked wide eyed back at his mother, ignoring Malfoy's outstretched hand.

"Mommy! He has my name!" the child exclaimed, then looked back at Draco, fascinated.

The elder Draco's eyes snapped to Hermione's, his face blanching, a cold fury brewing in his eyes. The child babbled on.

"No one has my name! We have three Will's in my class and two Casey's. My teacher's name is Miss Audrey-"

"Yes, Draco honey, why don't you go upstairs and play with your toys," Hermione replied, ruffling his pale blonde hair.

The small boy nodded, stopping to stick his picture to the front of the refrigerator before tearing up the stairs. The silence that was left in his wake was so thick Hermione almost called him back.

"Draco-"

"Don't." His voice was low, gravely, his eyes on his shoes.

"Draco, please understand-"

His eyes met hers and she was silenced instantly by the wrath emanating from them. He stepped toward her and she stepped back, her hip hitting the counter giving her no where to go as he advanced on her. She could feel the heat of his body, his breath fanning her face as he loomed over her.

"Why?"

The question was whispered, in a way that was not accusing, but broken. Was uttered as if begging for his own life. She looked into his stormy grey eyes – the same color as her son's – and found the anger fleeting, replaced by fear, sadness, and a longing she couldn't quite place.

"Why, Hermione?" he asked, his voice breaking as his hands cupped her face. "Why didn't you _tell me?_"

"Draco-"

"He's… what… about four?" Draco asked, stepping back from her, beginning to pace manically across her kitchen.

"Four and a half," she replied weakly and she watched him stop, and turn to face her, an expression of realization lighting his features.

"You've been gone five years."

"I left before I knew I was pregnant," she said taking a step toward him, his rapid movement making her dizzy.

"LIKE THAT MAKES IT BETTER!!!" he screamed, causing her to jump back against the counter once more. "You could have told me! Instead of holing up here, hiding under the pretense of mourning for your dead friends!"

She winced and marveled that after all they had done and all that had been done to them that he still had the capacity to hurt the way he did, to say things that bit at her very core. She supposed the same could be said about her.

"We have a life, Draco," she replied, fighting back tears. "A nice, quiet life. We never could have had that-"

"You don't know that!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking again. "You don't know what it would have been like."

"Draco, you have a wife, a daughter. You're about to be the youngest Minister of Magic in six hundred years…"

It was then that Draco stopped his pacing and looked at her, a look of sober realization covering his features. He stepped towards her, cupping her face once more as he said:

"…but on the night of his greatest triumph, he will give up everything he holds dear, for his first born… a son… will lose everything… for his first born, his son…"


End file.
